


Just One Yesterday

by Waynesgrayson



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Amnesia, Angst, Blood and Gore, Body Horror, Canon-Typical Violence, Drama, Family Feels, Flashbacks, Fluff, Gen, Gore, M/M, Nightmares, POV Multiple, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-26
Updated: 2015-03-26
Packaged: 2018-03-19 16:03:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3615891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Waynesgrayson/pseuds/Waynesgrayson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rick doesn't look as deathly has he had when he was first brought in. He's still unusually pale, his cheeks and chest refusing to show colour, the veins in his arms and eyes are prominent and worrying; but he looks stable in a way he hadn't hours before.</p><p>What if Rick got amnesia?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just One Yesterday

**Author's Note:**

> The title is taken from “Just One Yesterday” by Fall Out Boy (go and listen, it's an amazing song)
> 
> I know there are unanswered questions and other things that probably should have been mentioned/answered, but I just didn't know how to address or bring them up, I'm sorry.

There was a spark clashing around his mind like lightening. Striking from above and landing below but seemingly never touching the area around it. He watches transfixed. He can't help but lose himself in the way the colour and light flow effortlessly to its destination; admiring its beauty and fierceness. He knows deep down that he should fear the light, but he wants to touch it, feel it move underneath his finger tips and palm.

Soon, he tells himself, for another moment longer he just wants to watch it live.

\--

Several honks startle Maggie and Sasha out of their conversation. They both look in the direction of noise and see a light green car approaching the red rusted gate. They jump to their feet and share a concerned look as they run over, startled by the fact that they dared to use their horn.

Once they open the gate the car zoomed in, screeching to a halt a few feet away leaving dust and particles to drift back from its tires. Michonne jumps out of the drivers seat and scrambles to the back door, throwing the door open with a wild hurry. Sasha and Maggie exchange a worried glance as they close the iron doors, both turning and running to the car before the loud clunk signals its closing.  

Michonne looks up as they approach, and both women are stilled by the look in her eyes, the complete lack of coolness throughout them. She looks as wild as her actions, her eyes worried and wide.

“Michonne?” Maggie asks, taking a step forward, not daring to break the spell the other woman's eye contact seems to have on her. She looks like a startled animal surrounded by it's prey. Like a human out numbered by walkers and is just seconds away from accepting their fate. That thought makes Maggie swallow around the lump of worry building up in her throat. Maggie has a feeling Michonne isn't quite out of the place she was just in, her mind still reeling and fighting even though she was physically safe.

Michonne looks lost. Almost unsure. It was a look that doesn't sit well with Sasha as she studies the other woman's face, she doesn't like what it could mean. She too takes a step forward, reaching out as if to touch Michonne. Her reach falls short though, looking as if she was pointing at something. The back seat door of the car, possibly.

“It's Rick.” Michonne says, her voice a whisper. She sounds scared and spooked, like she'd seen a ghost. “He's hurt.” 

The moment seems to still, and a chill grips the air sending goosebumps down their skins. All three will hate themselves later for how much Michonne's words still them, but they can't help it. The words are heavy and thick like syrup, sticking to their skins and making even the thought of movement seem impossible. Then, as if someone had them on pause and pressed play, the three woman jump into action, slowly and carefully removing Rick's body from his spot in the back seat.

While Rick looks to be a pretty thin man, he's heavy. Under different circumstances maybe one of them would have made a joke, but right now all were too scared to talk, only grunting when they shift his weight, making sure he's okay in their arms.

The day is gloomy. Dark clouds covering up and trace of blue and yellow for miles. At first the weather was nothing but a disappointment, Michonne had wanted nice weather for their supply run. But now she can't help but thank whatever higher being is left for the gloom - not many people spend time in the yard when the sun isn't out. It's understandable and if it wasn't for the run she too would have found something inside the prison to occupy her time. Possibly Carl's comics or Hershel's stories. But instead it's under the swirling black mass of clouds that she's carrying her bloodied friend up the pebbled path to the prison, feeling scared in a way she hasn't since Andrea.

They move as fast as they can, shuffling over rocks and sun dried guts, trying their best not to move Rick anymore then they have to. They struggle for a moment at the door, but manage through. Sasha is looking over her shoulder every few seconds, though her gaze is always brought back to Rick, assuring herself that he is still alive and breathing in their arms. When she looks back again she sees a figure running towards them. She doesn't call out and again focuses on Rick. The next time she looks Carol is a few steps away from them. She doesn't look at any of them, her eyes running along Rick's body and face. “What happened?”

“He got hurt.”

She nods and Michonne is thankful no one seems to need a more in-depth answer at the moment. “I'll get Hershel.” Carol says before turning and running down the cell block.

Michonne is glad that their cell block is currently empty as the three woman do their best to place Rick down on the bed gently. She spares a second to think about where Carl might be, and decides that when she's no longer needed she would find him and explain herself - that's if he hasn't found out already.

In no time at all Hershel is seated in a stool beside her, rolling up his sleeves and asking Maggie for various supplies.

“Now,” Hershel says as he begins unbuttoning Rick's clothing. Hershel is as clam as ever. Michonne wonders if there's anything that phased him injury wise. But then she supposes nothing would surprise anyone now. Not anymore. “I need you to tell me as much as you can about what happened out there.” He turns and levels her with a stern look - as if the tone of his words weren't enough. She feels a spark of nervousness explode in her gut, worried about possibly leaving anything out. Just as soon as that thought appears she banishes it away, knowing she wouldn't leave anything out. She takes a deep breath and starts from the beginning.

\--

The lightening continues to land, but it now has a soft buzzing layered behind it. He tilts his head to the side trying to hear it better, but when he can't place what the noise is, he decides to forget about it.

The urge to touch is stronger now. He wants to keep watching but he knows that the only way he can continue to do so is to touch the flashing light and curb his urge.

He reaches out slowly, allowing the soft tendrils of colour to caress his hand and wrist. He stops just short of the light, and he smiles. He's excited. He feels like a kid again, happy to be able to touch something so pretty and bright.

A spark ignites when his finger tips graze the lightening, and it startles him. But any fear it causes vanishes in an instant, and he surges forward, wrapping his entire hand around the lightening rod.

The reaction is instantaneous. The jolt of electricity flows through his body. He can feel his heart thumping wildly and without control. His lungs expanding and deflating all too quickly, and he feels what the colour purple is. Stars exploded behind his eyelids and down his spine. The colour blue racing through his veins.

The world is moving quickly. He feels like he is moving but knows that he is still sitting with the light in his hands. The same light that is now exploring his brain and shining out of his eyes.

The world around him is somehow both white and black. He's blinded and overwhelmed by light but feels like he's in the dark. He doesn't know which one he should go for.

But the decision isn't for him to decide, and he finds himself sinking into nothing.

\--

“He'll have minor external bruising and from what I can tell, little to no internal. He will be sore for while, but otherwise he'll be fine.” Hershel says as he finishes threading the last stitch in Ricks head.

“And his head?” Michonne asks, leaning forward.

Hershel sighs. “If what you told me is correct-”

“It is.”

He turns to look at her. “And I'm not saying it isn't. But if he did hit his head has hard as you say, then he may be out of commission for a while.”

“What? Like a coma?” Glenn asks from over Michonne's shoulder. Michonne twists in her seat to face him, and they look at each other for a moment, concern evident their eyes.

“Possibly.”

“Wait.” Carol says, everyone turning to look at her, “Rick's been in a coma before. He actually woke up to the turning.” Glenn nods along as she speaks, looking expectantly at Hershel.

“Apparently he was out for a couple months. How long do you think he'll be out this time?”

Hershel thinks about that, choosing his word carefully. “Like I said, a coma is a possibility. I think Rick will wake up, but it'll be a few days, maybe a week at most-”

“And if he doesn't wake up?”

Hershel gives Michonne a sad look. He reaches out and places a hand on her shoulder and leans down so he can look her in the eye. When she makes no move to shake him off he continues, “We'll cross that bridge when we get to it.”

\--

The day had been a long one. He never was fond of city runs; checking the back streets and alleyways for juveniles and prostitutes - booking them wasn't any better. But tonight their little town was the life of the party, meaning every available Officer was to hit the streets and rein in chaos. He'd lost track of the amount of times he was groped or had dirty words purred at him. Though for him the night was over and he couldn't be more exhausted.

The house is dark and quiet, but he knows Lori is waiting for him. He doesn't sigh at the thought, but he can feel his frame deflate. He doesn't want to fight. Not tonight. All he wants to do is collapse in bed, curl around his wife and fall asleep.

He takes off his belt and badge when he walks in, carefully placing both on the side table by the door. He toes off his shoes next, and then makes his way down the hallway and up the four step stairs, stretching as he walks into the living room.

Lori is sitting in front of the television, the glow turning her skin an off blue-yellow. She looks up at his entrance. “You were out late.”

He does sigh this time. “Yeah, it's Friday night. Believe it or not our small town has it's fair share of hooligans.”

When she laughs he can feel the heaviness of anticipation leave his body. He stands a little straighter, and can't help but smile when he sees the look of carefree bliss on her face. He hasn't seen that look directed at him in a long time, it makes him feel good. “'Hooligans'? Who are you? Old man George?”

He laughs, “Yeah, forgot to tell you, I'm actually eighty-four.”

“You look good for your age.”

He ducks his head and then looks up at her from under his lashes. “Why thank you.”

They fall into silence, but it's not what he was expecting. He feels lighter then he has all day.

“I'm sorry about this morning.”

He opens his mouth to tell her he was too. That it wasn't all her fault and that he was as much to blame as her for their little spat this morning. But before he can, words appear in his mind, whisperings that don't belong to him. Things that don't make sense.

_He'll be okay_

He's lucky that Lori uses his pause to stands up, her hands splayed in front of her as if stopping him. She walks over to him, her eyes full of intent as they well up with tears. “No, you didn't do anything wrong, I was irritable and I took it out on you.”

_If what you told me is correct -_

“But I didn't do anything to defuse the situation.”

_Possibly_

Lori laughs through her tears, and even though she calls herself an ugly crier, she's still the most beautiful woman he has ever laid eyes on. “Of course you did. You always do.”

_Maybe a week at most_

“Rick?”

Rick?

The world around him dissolves into blackness.

\--

Glenn walks into the cell only to find everyone in the same position they were an hour ago. Hershel and Carol are the closest to Rick, watching over him with careful and attentive eyes, Carol dotting a wet rag over Rick's forehead. Beth is seated in the corner with Judith in her lap, bouncing the baby girl on her knee as she hums something vaguely familiar while Judith softly claps along, her eyes focused solely on Beth. He nods to her when she looks up as he walks to stand behind Carol.

Carl and Daryl are nowhere to be seen, and Glenn can't find it in himself to be surprised. After Hershel’s initial check up, Michonne had gone and broke the news to Carl. The boy had rushed in and for a painful second Glenn had seed the scared and confused little boy he had met back in Atlanta, looking at his fathers bruised and scraped face with eyes so wide and wet. He stayed for as long as he could, until it became clear to him that Rick wasn't going to miraculously wake up anytime soon. Glenn hasn't seen him since and he doesn't think he will. He has a feeling it's best to just give him some distance.

Glenn knows that Daryl has been told, and he knows that it was Carol who told him. She had left shortly after Michonne and wasn't gone for very long. Her expression when she came back said everything, and they all knew to give Daryl his space. He isn't sure how Daryl reacted or how he's handling it, he didn't ask. He hasn't seen the man since they all gathered together for breakfast that morning. but Glenn wouldn't put it past Daryl to blame himself for this, and he can't help the wave of sadness that takes over him with that thought. He hopes Carol will and talk to him again, and do it soon, make him understand that he is no way to blame for this happening. That it could have easily been anyone in Rick's situation. 

He doesn't think that the two are together, but he knows that they're both were doing the same thing. He doesn't like that they're choosing to worry alone, but he can't stop them, not if that's what they need to do in order to clear their head so they can sit by Rick's side eventually. He isn't about to deny them time.

Rick doesn't look as deathly has he had when he was first brought in. He's still unusually pale, his cheeks and chest refusing to show colour, the veins in his arms and eyes are prominent and worrying; but he looks stable in a way he hadn't hours before. He hasn't roused from wherever his mind is keeping him, and that has kept everyone on edge. The hours are slowly ticking by, but Glenn is still holding out hope. Hershel said a week, so he'll wait in torturous anticipation until that week is up, or until Rick wakes.

“How is he?”

Carol looks up at him with an apologetic smile. “Physically he's fine. Bruises are still forming but the scratches have been tended to. We're just waiting for him to wake up.”

Nodding Glenn places a hand on her shoulder, squeezing it. “He'll pull through.”

She smiles at him and he knows she's not convinced, though that doesn't stop her from saying, “It's Rick. Of course he will.”

\--

“It's not your fault you know.” Michonne looks up from her thoughts to see Maggie walking towards her. Soon after she talked with Carl she found herself sitting on the bottom step of a set of stairs alone. It didn't take long for her to replay what had happened over and over again, each time seemingly worse then the play before. She can't help but wince at the echoing sound Rick's head had made when it made contact the rock. It was nothing like the wet sound of a walkers head caving in, it was more like a solid crack and it made everything that much worse, and the way he bled out looking all pale and defenseless left her in a frenzy. They hadn't been over run, but there were enough walkers to scare her out of her damn mind. After witnessing Rick fall she doesn't remember much, nothing is there until she's trying to stop the bleeding by removing her bandana and tying it tight around Rick's head. Even all of that is a blur of red and shaky hands.

“What happened to Rick isn't your fault, Michonne.” Maggie is now seated next to her, close enough that their shoulders and thighs are just touching.

“Feels like it.”

“He won't blame you, and no one else does. You got him here safe, you protected him. You did everything right.”

Michonne knows she's right. That once Rick went down she did what she had to do to ensure they both made it back to the prison in one piece. There was a part of her, deep down, that missed the protection of two walkers flanking her. She wanted nothing more then to move through the trees without having to worry about a walker coming at them. Using her katana with one hand was tricky enough without desperately trying to hold onto another person's dead weight.

“The look on Carl's face when I told him,” Michonne says, looking at Maggie, “he looked -” she falters, not sure how to describe the look of heartbreak and helplessness his features contorted to when she broke the news, or how desperate he looked when he left her to find his Dad.

Maggie reaches out and grabs her hand, squeezing it lightly. “That boy loves you and he trusts you. He doesn't blame you. You brought back his father alive, and when the shock wears off you know he'll talk to you about it.”

As much as she wants to believe Maggie's words, in that moment she can't bring herself to.

\--

Life at the prison was always tense, in a way. Yes, they could sleep with both eyes closed and feel a sense of security, not always having to watch their backs as they walk the grounds. But there is always that underlining worry. The need to make sure every single thing is secure and okay is sometimes overbearing and suffocating. Sometimes, sleeping is tedious because the body knows everything is safe but the mind won't quit. It's a never ending battle of anxiety and desperation, one they know they will never win but can at least tame for moments at a time.

The first couple of weeks at the prison were the worst. No one was allowed off on their own, and even though the grounds were clear, the phantom feel of people walking around was hard to shake.

With Rick out of commission the past few days, it felt like it did when they first took over the prison. Obviously no one was happy at finally having a stable place to live and mattresses to sleep on, but the fear and dread is the same as it was then. It was as if the prison was set on mute and then slow motion. The group moved with heavy exhaustion, their minds constantly fogged and distracted. No one knew what to say. There were no words that would bring comfort or assurance, not when none of them knew anything solid. Glenn and Michonne did what they could to keep their run schedule on track, but it was difficult to organize a group when most people didn't want to leave. They all knew deep down that they were overreacting and over worrying, but this wasn't a usual injury.

Rick was still stuck in the depths of his mind, and as the hours continued to pass people became more and more certain that he would never wake.

\--

The car ride back to the prison is just as quiet as the one to the store was. They picked up medical supplies, any canned food and baby supplies – anything of use really. When they left, Glenn had pulled out the map and circled the stores location, it had another run or two left before it could be considered useless.

With Michonne at the wheel, Glenn allows himself to curl up in his seat, pressing his face against the door of the car. The sights are no longer as beautiful they would have been just a few years prior, but the appeal of looking out a window during a long drive is still there. The only thing missing is the music. That had to be one of the things everyone could agree on missing. Sometimes, Glenn wonders if everyone's music tastes would match their personality, or if he would be surprised. Daryl finding the little tape recorder and tapes was in a way a blessing. Beth was never short of song but there was nothing like listening to the actual artist.

The car radio flickers between nothing and static, it's kind of annoying but it's something to fill the silence. It isn't tense in the car, but there is that underlining worry of their situation and the issue back at the prison. Runs were usually simple and quick, but it didn't take much for them to go wrong. Sometimes moving too quickly or taking a wrong step was what sealed your fate. They may be masters at them now, years of ducking in and out without so much as a sound, but that didn't make them any easier. Glenn still became nervous at times.

When a soft swooshing noise fill the car, Glenn frowns. He thinks about asking about it, but decides that they're close enough to the prison for it not to matter.

Then,“Hey.” Glenn raises an eyebrow and moves his head to look over at Michonne.

She's looking at him, hands steady on the wheel. But in her mouth is a large puff of white. He can't hold back a snort as whipped cream falls from her mouth and onto the middle console, and when she looks down at the splatter of cream, more falls out. He laughs again and this time she joins him. She looks a mess and it's pretty disgusting, but Glenn can't help but laugh, missing this kind of simple silliness all too much.

It feels good to laugh.

\--

Voices clash against each other, sounding more like nails on a chalk board then actual words. Soon, the noises blend together to form a white noise in the background, making it hard to hear the voices. The voices are muffled and blocked and he finds himself straining to hear. A few sentences would sneak in, the voices familiar, but nothing struck a chord with him. He feels frustration race though his veins and rip at his heart, causing it to jump hard. He just wants to hear what they're telling him. The voices are important, he knows this for a fact. He feels like crying, the emotion swirling in his gut almost too much as he fights to hear.

He slams against the barrier between him and the voices, punching and kicking, trying to do anything to break it open. He grows tired easily, his effort of breaking the barrier doing nothing but causing bloody hands and knuckles. The blood is warm against his skin, though he feels no pain.

After what feels like a life time, he slumps against the barrier and slowly sinks to the ground.

\--

When he moves, Carol is on her feet in an instant. She and Rick are alone in the cell, everyone else stopping by at random, never staying for longer then a few minutes.

Daryl had stopped by once, but practically fled once he took in Rick's bruised face. Carl stayed with Rick as often as he could, but was usually coaxed away by Michonne to help with Judith or to just give him something to do to distract him from his worry.

Carol leans out of the cell doorway and yells down the cell block, “Hershel! Somebody get Hershel!” Naturally her voice attracts everyone within hearing distance - Tyreese, Maggie and Sasha all run up to her with looks suggesting they're expecting nothing short of the worst.

“What is it?” Sasha asks.

Carol glances back at Rick before looking at them with hope. “He moved.”

\--

“Are you sure?”

Carol can't help but give Hershel an annoyed look. He's been asking her that ever since Tyreese brought him to the cell. She clenches her jaw. “Yes, I'm one hundred percent positive.”

“Just checking.” he mutters, and again, Carol can't help but roll her eyes. He can't see her, his attention focused on Rick, but it makes her feel a bit better. She hadn't imagined Rick moving and the fact that Hershel keeps asking is grating on her nerves.

“In what way did he move?” Hershel asks as he looks over his shoulder at her.

“His head and shoulder jerked and her right hand moved.” Hershel nods and turns back to Rick.

“What does it mean, Daddy?” Maggie asks from her position in the doorway.

“If we're to look at this optimistically, I'd say it means that he should be waking up anytime now.”

\--

He feels like absolute shit. The phantom feel of blood over his body is making his skin itch, and the throbbing throughout his head makes him feels like he's going to throw up. A groan escapes his throat and a scattering sound enters his ears. Like a group of mice scuttling around, their paws scratching at the floor, crawling up to him and their sharp nails cutting into his skin and their tiny teeth taking a bite out of his insides. The thought of the mice getting to him scares him and he tries to move, hoping to throw them off but he finds moving difficult. His mind is telling him, practically screaming at him to move, but he's stuck.

He begins to panic. There is no light behind his eyelids. Just pure blackness that feels more like a taunt now, nothing like the blissful safety it was before.

He misses the lightening.

He tries to open his eyes.

Making that happen takes more effort then he would have liked. The process is like trying to separate two pieces of paper that have been glued together, trying so hard to not rip or tear either sheet. The process is delicate and nerve wracking and when he finally opens them he instantly regrets it.

The light is too bright and even though it was a two second glance, he feels like his eyes are burning.

He doesn't want to try again, but he is quickly becoming aware of the unnatural silence that is now surrounding him. It's charged with tension and the feel of it against his skin is making him uncomfortable.

He decides to go slower this time, and manages to fight through the pain, keeping his eyes slightly open. The blinding light is still there, but it's quick to blend into dullness as silhouettes and figures block it from his eyes. They're close to him, and he finds himself leaning closer to try and make them out.

When his mind supplies that the figures are in fact people he startles back, his head slamming down onto the pillow. The action hurts his head, sending a fresh wave of pain throughout its walls, and the people around him move closer when he groans. He can feel the careful touch of someones fingers on his arm and head.

He brings his hands to his face, rubbing his eyes with the palms of his hands until colours appear from the pressure. His head is swimming and he can't seem to focus on anything in particular, and he's too tired to even attempt thinking.

He moves his hands away, and when the static in front of his eyes goes away he tries to focus on the two people standing immediately above him. A man and a woman, both look kind, their eyes gentle. But there is a hardness about them, something tough and hard as steel.

He frowns - or at least tries to. He's looking at them and they're look him, but he can't help but feel like he's not seeing them in the same way. Like there was something missing

Then he realizes that all of these people are talking to him. Unlike before, when he remembers feeling so desperate to hear anything, their words fall on deaf ears.

“Rick?” he feels himself respond, moving his head in the general direction of the voice.

He tries to talk but his throat is dry. He goes to swallow but there is nothing to swallow and he feels himself begin to panic. He tries to swallow again, but this time it causes him to cough out a few loud, barking coughs.

He feels something against his chest and it takes him a moment to realize that it's a hand, now rubbing his chest in circular motions, a water bottle at his lips.

“Are you okay?” The woman closest to him asks after he a takes a few gulps. She's a bit too close for

comfort but Rick forces himself to relax and nod at her question, water trailing down his chin.

“Yeah, I'm fine. I just feel like shit.” he manages.

That gets him a collective laugh and he feels sick from it. He's about to ask if it was possible for him to lay down when he hears, “Dad!” being shouted in an all too familiar voice.

He looks up in time to see his son fling himself into his arms. He holds Carl as close to his chest as he can, running his fingers through his hair as the Sheriffs hat is knocked off his head. When Carl pulls away, Rick sees that there are tears in his eyes, some already sliding down his cheeks. He can't help but smile as he thumbs them away.

“I missed you.” Carl says, and that makes Rick falter. Taking a good look at his son he sees that Carl looks different. The same, but different. He looks older then he remembers.

“I was right here the whole time.”

“I know. But it wasn't the same.”

Rick nods. “Well don't worry about it anymore. I'm here now.” and when Carl smiles at him Rick can't help but feel guilty over something he can't quite place.

\--

He spends the next little while like this - feeling uncomfortable in his own skin and smiling at strangers with kindness and politeness. It also doesn't help the fact that he doesn't recognize his surroundings, but he knows for a fact that they're currently in a prison cell. That knowledge does nothing to ease the nerves that are threatening to set him on fire. He also isn't sure it should be possible to have such casual conversation surrounded by blotchy grey concrete and what looks to be blood stains on the walls.

The baby in his lap makes a gurgling noise and he looks down at her smiling face and can't help but smile back. She's spent the entire time in his lap with a tight grip on his shirt, her other hand in her mouth, drool down her chin. Every once in a while she'll look around the room only to quickly look back at him with wide eyes, as if making sure he was still there. He assures her by smiling and talking nonsense to her. She seems to enjoy that, a smile lighting up her features as she tries to talk back. Her intelligible bumbling is endearing, and his heart swells with emotion every time she reaches up to touch his face; he can't help the tears.

The people around him are odd. He's never seen a group of people so different in personality and looks get along like they all do. Yet there they are, sitting together and talking like old friends. Rick has a feeling under different circumstances they're louder, but after a few stern looks from the older man in the room, they're quiet in their conversation.

A few are openly watching Rick and whenever he looks at them, they smile before returning back to everyone else. He wonders if they're just content in letting him sit with his son and apparent daughter.

“Okay, everyone out.” The oldest of them all says. Rick looks up at him through red rimmed eyes and isn't sure if he's grateful for the out or if it'll crush him when he's alone. His eyes are locked in Rick's and Rick can't stop from swallowing around the worry and emotion in his throat. His gaze is kind and soft, but heavy in a way Rick hasn't dealt with in a long time. He watches as they all file out, most looking back over their shoulder with smiles of relief, a few waving goodbye. He barely notices them leave - save for Carl and the little girl (“And here's Judith.” the blonde girl had said when she placed the humming baby girl in his lap.) - and fights the urge to lay down and sleep.

When he's alone with the old man he feels any strength he had deplete. He curls in on himself and runs his hands through his hair. He looks up to find the man already watching him. He shifts in his seat feeling a little self conscious. “You're a doctor, right?”

The man looks a bit taken aback. He studies Rick for a moment before sighing. There is something in his eyes, something just like the others, but there's also an understanding. He takes a seat in the stool next to him.

“A veterinarian, actually. But I get by.”

Rick nods and lowers his head, rubbing his hands together. He looks back up at the man, “I'm a bit confused.”

“Well I imagine so.”

“What do you mean?”

The man is once again watching Rick with a calculative look, as if he's able to see through Rick and right to his core.

“Rick, let me as you something.” Rick nods “Who am I?”

When Rick doesn't respond he asks another question, “Can you tell me who any of those people are.” he asks, pointing to cell entrance.

“Carl.” he says “My son.”

The man nods. “You only recognize Carl. Is that correct?”

Rick doesn't know why he feels ashamed. He feels like he's back in high school and his teachers are scolding him for not knowing something he apparently should already know.

“Yeah.”

He flinches when a hand is placed on his shoulder. The man is now close, their faces inches apart. Rick doesn't feel as boxed in like he did with everyone else, but he still fights the urge to move back.

“What's the last thing you remember?”

\--

“Where's Lori?”

“She didn't make it.” Rick nods repeatedly, and lowers his head, trying to hide the tears that well up in his eyes. When he blinks they tears splatter on his cheek and roll down until they're dripping off his chin. The feel is a bit ticklish, but he doesn't wipe them away. The pain that has his entire body in a vice grip is nothing compared to the pain that fills his heart. He feels his shoulders start to shake, and the sorrow in his heart expands, racing through his veins making him feel numb. He covers his eyes with his hands.

“She died bringing that little girl into the world. It wasn't for nothing.”

Rick knows that he should feel good about that, even happy, and part of him is. That happy, bumbling baby was beautiful, and the way he had felt when she looked at him with eyes so wide and innocent - it was if nothing else mattered.

“And Shane?” he asks, not bothering to hide the distress in his voice.

He can feel a heavy gaze on him, and he knows he'd see some form of pity if he looked up. When the man speaks, his voice is gentle, but there is no mistaking the underlining hardness, and it makes Rick wonder what Shane could have done to him.

“In the end, this world was just too much for him to handle.”

\--

The rest of his talk with the man he now know is named Hershel, was just as shocking. He remembers hearing somewhere, that the best thing to do when it comes to someone who has gaps in their memory, is to give them time and space so they can figure things out for themselves. Hershel told him that they didn't have time for that, and not telling him anything would most likely result in his death - and very painful one at that.

To say it wasn't a very pleasant conversation would be correct.

He was given names to people he had seen and a list of thing's he's done, and was told about the new world they're apparently living in. He was also given strict orders to not wander past the wired fences of the prison alone.

Then he made Hershel promise him that their conversation would stay between them. Hershel did his best to try and convince him that it was a stupid idea, and part of him agreed. But after hearing what Hershel had to say about the last year or so, Rick knows he's put Carl through too much, and telling him that he no longer remembers any of it would crush Carl that much more. The idea is stupid, but Rick isn't, and now that he's aware of his responsibility to everyone here, he knows they can't know either. He knows that they would take the news and handle it accordingly, but Rick doesn't want to risk that. Doesn't want to disrupt whatever balance they have.

This was almost two weeks ago.

The sunlight feels good on his skin. The heat was something he missed being bedridden. Very quickly the cell seemed too small and cold and the smell was unlike anything he's every smelled before. It was horrendous, but every time he tried to tell someone he was fine he was pushed back down with a water bottle at his mouth, being told that he'd be out and about in no time, but until then he was to stay put.

Rick figures they were delaying something. He knows there's something wrong with him but it's painfully obvious that there's something wrong with everything else.

Things weren't right. There people were kind but there was always something scratching at their surface. Something dark. Rick dealt down his fair share of demons - some of his own - and being surrounded by these people made him wonder if he wasn't just in some messed up version of hell.

Even the sun, as beautiful as it feels on his skin, is also wrong.

The courtroom is empty and according to Hershel it wasn't even eight yet. He was told everyone rose early, and Rick wonders where they all are, but quickly realizes he doesn't want to know. He wants to keep his distance for as long as he possibly can.

They smile at him and give him kindness, but there is something else in their eyes. A glimmer of something almost like hope shining up at him. It makes his skin crawl, but also his chest tighten.

He means something to them, and it's important, and he hates himself for not knowing why.

He makes his way down the stone path, entering the wide field of overgrown grass and weeds. He barely has to reach to touch the tops of some blades. He doesn't know why, but it makes him smile.

He continues down until he reaches the stretch of fences. He stops when he hears a throaty snarl come from his right. Looking down the stretch of fence, Rick sees a man slowly making his way to him, his hands outstretched, mouth open. Rick squints, shielding his eyes from the sun.

“Sir!”

His call makes the man stumble forward at a much faster pace. When it looks like he might fall, Rick jumps into action, sprinting down the length of the fence towards the man.

“Hey, hey, hey, it's all right! I'm a police officer, I can help you!” Are the words that comes out of his mouth, his hands automatically coming up to the fence, shaking it a bit, as if he was going to jump over.

Another loud throaty snarl makes him lean forward, his face pressed up against the fence. One good look at the mans face is all it takes for Rick to jump back. His movements are a little too fast and he finds himself landing straight on his ass. He looks up at the man with wide eyes, his brain going into overdrive trying to process what he's seeing. He's never seen anything like. Nothing in all his years of being a cop has he seen someone so mutilated and grotesque. Half of the mans face is hanging on by lines of skin, and the area that would normally be pink from muscle is now black – dirt, rocks and blood smeared all over its face and neck. Each time it opens its mouth to snarl it's as if nothing is inside, its mouth is completely black, not one tooth to speak of. The thing then slams itself against the fence, bits of skin and blood flying from the impact.

Rick let's out a startled yelp and starts scooting himself backwards with his hands and legs until he's able to pick himself up. Once his feet are under him he books it back to the prison.

He doesn't leave his cell for the rest of the night.

\--

As he dreams he hears Beth's voice, she's singing with another woman but he can't place her voice.

He's slowly making his way through tall grass, a full moon the only light guiding him around. The moon casts shadows on the ground displaying pictures of exhausted men staggering around. He side steps them all and makes his way to a light in the middle of it all. A fire. Its soft crackling and glow is calming in a way. He feels good about it. It's the kind of feeling that grips his entire being but it's dimmed. He isn't allowing himself to enjoy it, not wanting to believe until it actually happens.

He turns and he sees her watching him. She smiles at him, and he knows he doesn't smile back. He turns away, his back to the moon, adding his own shadow.

He feels the weight of a gun on his back and hip and the weight of the world on his shoulders.

\--

“Have you seen Rick at all yet?” Carol asks as she approaches Glenn.

He sighs, rubbing his face with his hands. “According to Michonne, Rick hasn't left his cell since yesterday morning.”

“We know why?”

Glenn shakes his head. “He won't say.” He sighs again when he sees a section of fence being pushed forward by a hoard of walkers, all piling over top each other. He gestures to it and silently the two make their way over, grabbing a crow bar and a rod of iron. They spend the next while spearing walkers through the eyes and brain, grimacing when blood and innards splatter against their skin and clothing. They're use to the feeling of constantly being dirty, of having to pick skin out from underneath their finger nails and scrub guts out of their clothing until their hands are raw - but that doesn't make it any less disgusting.

“You think he's traumatized?” Glenn asks.

“Aren't we all?”

Glenn laughs at that. “I guess that's true.”

“But?”

Taking a moment, Glenn thinks. He takes out a few more walkers before turning back to Carol. “Rick always bounces back from this stuff, but this time it seems like it's finally getting to him.”

“Kinda like Shane?”

Hesitantly, Glenn nods. “A bit, yeah.”

“Well,” Carol says as she rams the end of the crowbar into a walkers eye socket, “when he shaves his head, we'll know for sure.”

\--

The sun is burning against the back of his neck. It feels like its rays are slicing into his skin, the smell of burned skin thick in his nose. He wishes it was his own but he learned the hard way that it was the phantom smells of the long dead, all burned to ash out of love and respect. Even the ones still moving brought a horrid smell with them, something he can't describe without stating the obvious. The air smells as if something had died, and in extension, the air also tastes like it, meaning Rick had the ever present taste of bile in his mouth as he willed himself to adjust to the new worlds culture.

He pushes the shovels head into the dirt and deeply breathes in the smell of soil. He's glad that hasn't changed. That grass and dirt smell exactly the same, and the blood flooding the earth hasn't seeped into it. Then again, he supposes that's how it's meant to be. When human kind finally take themselves out, nature will once again inherit the earth. 

There is a eerie peace that comes with that thought. Part of him is glad that some sort of good came out of all this madness. That nature will thrive and cover the world in its vines like a protective cocoon. It's a shame he won't live long enough to see it.

He's afraid. He knows this as clearly as he knows his old life. It's a fear the sinks deep into his bones until he becomes heavy in heart, the organ wildly thumping in his chest every time he opens his eyes. He wants out of this world. Part of him believes he's asleep and his mind has conjured up this twisted world; that he's stuck in the dark crevasses of his mind. But all it takes is for him to see these people for him to think otherwise.

They don't scare him, not like the scene around him does. He's not sure how much longer he can go on pretending that he's completely fine. The only person he can talk to is Hershel, and while the older man is helpful and practically a god send, half the things he talks about make no sense to him. Words like walkers, geeks and bitters sound almost like slurs and nothing like what they should imply. He doesn't understand why they live in intense heat during the day and an abnormally cold chill at night, why the sun is high in the sky before it should be, and why there are things that want to eat people just outside the fences.

It makes no sense to him, but it also feels as it should. Like this is all a huge math problem and he's seconds away from understanding the teachers demonstration, but is still struggling on a step or a few numbers, just waiting for it all to click and make sense. For that whole body feel of triumph when he finally understands. But until that moment he's stuck, left frustrated because he knows he should already understand.

He's thankful for the opportunity to work in the fields. The work is repetitive and distracting, but it's enough that he feels like he's doing something worth while and good. Most of the time he's alone, but every once in a while Carl will make his way down and work along side him. Most of the time they're quiet, but sometimes they laugh. Sometimes Carl will bring up something Rick doesn't understand and he hopes his smile is convincing enough. He also learns how smart and aware his son has become.

Rick feels helpless sometimes when he watches Carl, seeing how mature and grown up Carl is, yet he has no recollection of that happening. His memory jumps from his chubby cheeked baby boy to the man he has now become. Nothing in between, his brain refusing to give him anything.

He slams the shovel head back into the dirt, stepping on the lip to push it further in and when it feels like it's stuck, he leans on it, placing a hand over his eyes. His heart is thumping hard and the feel of frustration and failure begins welling up in his chest.

\--

Glenn, Maggie, Sasha, Daryl and Rick are standing around a table covered in assorted firearms and knives. Each one of them are equipping themselves with what they feel they'll need, mostly reaching for the knifes and strapping them around their waist and a few to straps across their chest or back. Rick follows their lead, making sure he has what seems like the right amount of knives, and when they all take a gun, he grabs and straps one to his hip and silently enjoys the familiar feels of its weight. Maggie shrugs on what looks to be a protective vest as Daryl swings his crossbow over his back.

“Okay,” Glenn begins with a sigh, “with the kids starting to wander into area's they shouldn't we should make sure the other hallways and blocks are safe, though _there are walkers in the barn -_ ”

Rick looks up at Glenn, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “What?”

“I said I don't think there are any more walkers in the block, but we should check just to make sure.”

“Oh, sorry.” Rick says as he shakes his head. He looks up when he sees Glenn leaning towards him.

“You know you don't have to do this, right?” Glenn says, his voice quiet. “I can get Tyreese or Michonne if you want.”

Rick shakes his head. “No, I got this.”he says, and he pretends he doesn't see the concern looks everyone shares as they fall into formation.

\--

Sasha is sitting on the bottom step of a set of stairs. She's staring out into the distance, her eyes unfocused. It was moments like this that allowed her to think that everything was fine. When she doesn't have to be on alert and keep her eyes sharp and her movements quick. When she can take the time to sit and be lost in her thoughts, and not worry about something inhuman coming up from behind.

But even if there was, she'd be ready. She wasn't stupid. She didn't allow herself to zone out so far that when she finally breaks the spell she has to jerk back into reality, and she doesn't go anywhere without a weapon nowadays. She's aware, but a bit farther away in her mind. It's nice.

Someone sits down beside her. She doesn't look to know who it is because she doesn't have to. What she does do, is shift her body to face him more, and place her head on his shoulder. An arm comes up around her shoulder and she sighs.

“Are you okay?” Tyreese asks.

“Yeah.”

She knows that he doesn't believe her, but he doesn't press the issue. Sometimes she was just sad. Everyone here had days like this. Where an unexplainable force gripped their hearts and made it hard for them to function. Anyone who said they were fine was a liar. No one was anymore. They had moments of happiness. They laugh and talk and sometimes they can convince themselves that everything is right with the world. Today just wasn't going to be that day for her.

Moments like this were nice. They were in no way the most touchy siblings, they didn't always need each other, but when things became too much it was nice to reach out and know that they other is there.

“Do you think Rick is okay?” Tyreese asks after a long time.

Sasha thinks about it for awhile before answering, “No.”

\--

He isn't sure what he expected when Carl dragged him out of bed to join the rest for breakfast. (Usually he would skip the meal altogether in favour of sitting in his cell alone. Most to the time Carol or Beth would bring him a plate of food, telling him it was important he ate. Sometimes it was Carl, and Rick would force the food down so Carl would stop looking at him with worry.)

Sure, he was expecting _breakfast_ , but this was something different entirely. He's sandwiched in between Tyreese and Beth, and all around him is a circus. The table shakes with every laugh, people yelling and jumping as stories are told and jokes are made. Rick isn't even sure this many people should be able to fit around the two tables pushed together, but they somehow manage it. It's a tight fit, and Rick feels bad whenever he accidentally elbows Tyreese or takes up the small table space meant for Beth, but no one really seems to mind.

“And that's when I said, 'Well maybe if you weren't in that bunny suit, she wouldn't have set the hammer on fire!'”

The table erupts in laughter, everyone's faces alight with pure joy. It's surreal to Rick how these people could ignore the threat of death right outside their doors and sit down for breakfast as if nothing was wrong, getting together like as if they were a family.

Rick feels something bloom in his heart at that thought. He looks around the table, taking in everyone’s content and relaxed faces, their smiles and shining eyes and he realizes that he too has caught the contagious atmosphere.

He feels calm.

He also feels someone staring at him and when he looks up he catches the smallest glimpse of another mans eyes before they're gone.

\--

“Hey, Rick!” Rick looks up from his planting to see Maggie waving at him. She's walking towards him and in her hands are what looks to be crowbars. She nods towards the fence and he follows her gaze to see a hoard of walkers pressing up against it, the section of fence bulging slightly under the weight. When he looks back toward her she raises the crowbars and yells, “Wanna help me?”

He knows what she's doing. He hasn't picked up a gun or a knife since their time in the halls. There weren't many walkers, just like Glenn had suspected, but there were enough to make Rick's nerves stand on end. He knows that she can handle the hoard herself. There aren't many walkers, maybe ten tops and that it would take her only a few minutes to work through them - that she's trying to get him back at it. He appreciates her effort, but at the moment he doesn't think he can look at those things.

He waves her off, and he hates the pang of guilt that flairs up when she nods in understanding. He watches her walk away and he doesn't like how it feels like he's sending her off to die.

\--

The amount of time that goes into cleaning a katana is almost ridiculous. Maggie is positive it shouldn't take nearly as long as Michonne is taking, but then again her katana is her prized possession and as deathly it looks when killing walkers, it's more gross when it's covered in dried blood and caked on insides. Really, Maggie shouldn't talk, she's been sitting for the same amount of time cleaning and polishing her guns and knives to the best of her ability.

They work in a comfortable silence. Every once in a while one of them will make a noise out of frustration as they try to get dried guts off their blades.

After a while Maggie stops working. She places the clean blade down, and picks up a dirty one and holds it in her hand. She watches Michonne for a moment before speaking. “Somethin' isn't sittin' right with me.”

Michonne doesn't look up from her work, but she does tilt her head to the side. “What?”

“He's distant.” Maggie says, turning her attention back to her knife, and she begins scraping a nail over a clump of dried blood. “Rick, I mean. He isn't one t' shy away from people yet I can't help but feel like he doesn't wanna be here anymore.”

“Hershel said he'd need time getting adjusted. He did hit his head pretty badly, he needs to take things slow.”

“When have you known Rick t' take things slow?” Maggie asks, titling her head at Michonne, an eyebrow raised.

Michonne looks at her then, a grin forming on face. “Well, when asked very nicely -”

“Oh my god, shut up!” she says, her eyes wide and the corners of her mouth upturning. Michonne laughs.

Maggie's quiet for a moment before, “I'm serious though. When's the last time you even talked with him?”

The silence speaks for itself.

\--

Rick thinks about the man at breakfast – Daryl, he remembers Carol calling him. He sees him around a lot. Sometimes, he'll even come over and work silently on the garden with him. But there's something there, almost a tension between the two and for the life of him, Rick can't figure out why. As far as he knows he hasn’t done anything wrong, he steers clear of the man when he can, and he's maybe said two words to him total. It wasn't like that was a problem, the man himself was quiet. Though Rick has a feeling that despite Daryl's quietness, he wouldn't want to be in his bad books. The people who said it's the quiet ones you need to watch out for, weren't lying.

Daryl is all hand gestures and rough sounding grunts. The only time Rick's really seen expression on the man is whenever he's holding or caring for Judith. Though every once in a while, when he's fast enough to catch his eyes, he'll see some of that open emotion directed at him.

It makes him feel in a way he thought only Lori could make him feel. Now he knows he's so very wrong, and he has to stop himself from asking Hershel for the details of their relationship. He's sure the man knows, but he has a feeling being told would be a fairly awkward conversation. He had asked Hershel about Daryl one night, and he got nothing but an amused look in response. He's not really sure what he should take from that, and he can't help but feel like a lot was implied from that look.

Learning that Lori was dead hurt unlike anything he's ever experienced. It still hurts, despite the time between now and him first hearing the news, and he can't help but feel like something is missing everywhere he goes. But this man makes him feel okay. He doesn't make him talk, he doesn't ask. It's easy to just be with this man, and even though Rick is withholding something huge from him, he still feels at ease. Like it doesn't matter that he remembers nothing.

And he doesn't, not really. His mind won't give him much, just glances and glimpses of the man in different settings, sometimes with shorter hair. Random words thrown in and glances he doesn't remember receiving, all slotting into the blank spaces in his mind, feeling more like a skipping CD then complete memories.

\--

“Hey.” Carol says as she takes a seat next to Daryl. She watches him for a moment as he picks at one of his arrows, rubbing off dirt and blood, the mixture caking underneath his fingernails. “You gonna tell me what's wrong.”

He spares her a quick glance. “Nothin's wrong.”

She tilts her head and sets her mouth in a line. “You sure? Because you've been kind of off lately.” When he doesn't answer, she continues. “It's because of Rick, isn't it?”

“I think there's more too it then they're saying. He's distant, but it's not your fault. Something more happened to him and it's causin' him t' act like this.” She places a hand on his shoulder. “You should go talk t' him. It's not worth torturing yourself over.”

\--

There's a light knock on the cell wall, and Rick looks out from underneath his arms to see Daryl standing there. He sits up quickly, his eyes never leaving the man. He's somehow illuminated, Rick doesn't know how considering it's nighttime, but he doesn't dwell on it.

Daryl just watches him for a while. Rick keeps his ground, but there is something about the way he's watching him. He doesn't feel intimidated or like he's being sized up. If Rick is honest with himself, it feels more like he's being inspected, but then again, that wasn't quite right either. There was evident concern, though it was hard to see the other man properly as he's hiding underneath his bangs.

Rick waits for him to make the first move.

“You okay?” the man says eventually. His voice is rough, as if from lack of use. That's not surprising to Rick, the man keeps to himself. He moves his hands a lot, fidgeting with his fingers, tracing patterns on his palms, picking dirt out from underneath his fingernails.

Rick nods at him and he nods back, and it's as that was a silent invitation, because the man slowly makes his way over to Rick. He takes a seat in the spot next to him, their thighs and shoulders touching. He feels like the sun to Rick, all heat and intensity. Rick can feel his cheeks flush and he's now glad for the dimness of the cell.

“You sure?”

Rick nods again and turns his head to face him. They're now looking at each other and much closer then Rick was expecting. He takes a deep breath, releasing it slowly. “'m fine, I mean I'm a bit shaken still, but I'll be fine.”

Daryl makes a sound that Rick's sure he said “Yeah.” He continues to look at Rick, peering up at him from underneath his bangs with a look that makes his stomach feel hot.

“We okay?” The question takes Rick by surprise, and he thinks back to when he asked Hershel about him and the look he received in response. Rick had decided that it most likely meant what it so obviously implied, but that didn't mean he was prepared for when the man finally confronted him on his distance.

Really looking at the man, Rick decides that he's handsome in an unconventional way. He looks rough, rubbed raw by the world. But the way he's looking at Rick now convinces him that Daryl has a heart of gold. That he's a good man, and that he deserves so much more then the distance and the lies Rick has been giving since he woke up in that cell almost a month ago.

Rick swallows hard and nods. “Yeah.” he breathes out, and the pang of guilt that fills his chest when Daryl nods makes him want to tell the truth.

There is a moment of silence between them and the anticipation that grips his heart makes him feel like a teenager again with his first crush. His first kiss. Then, when Daryl's open expression becomes more serious Rick suddenly finds it hard to breathe, his heart thumping widely as Daryl leans forward.

This man was going to kiss him.

The urge to pull away from him is strong - not because he doesn't want to kiss him, but because Rick knows that there is so much between them and he doesn't remember any of it, he feels like he's cheating the man of who he's really looking for.

But that doesn't stop him from opening his lips when Daryl is close enough, or from pressing forward when the mans lips slide home. The kiss is almost shy, but there is a confidence that proves that this isn't their first time. It's a bit sloppy, but that generally came when two people kissed each other enough - they no longer care if it's picture perfect.

What Rick is feeling is odd to him. He feels nervous, yet he can't help but respond to the way Daryl leans closer, how he touches his neck with his hands, his fingers lightly stroking his face. How doing this feels normal and is somehow calming his mind. As if nothing matters.

When they break away Daryl immediately puts his head on Rick's shoulder, his face hidden away in the curve of his neck, as if he was embarrassed. It's endearing. It also reminds Rick of when he would comfort victims of trauma and how it always seemed like they were trying to burrow inside of him, always looking for that safe feeling after what they've gone through.

His fingers are gently stroking the mans arm, the light touch running up and down. He doesn't register it, just like he doesn't really notice when Daryl sags against him, falling asleep under his touch.

\--

His head feels like it could implode at any moment. He's kneeling in the middle of the garden, his head bent in an attempt to shield his eyes from the sun. Naturally his attempt is pointless, the sun seemingly coming from every direction, but his trying makes him feel somewhat better about himself.

He isn't sure what had just happened, but he doesn't want it to happen again. For a moment his eye sight left him, and in its place was a white light. His ears had popped and all he could hear was a faint ringing while his mind played images, like a silent movie playing in his head. There is a little girl running through his mind and he's running through the woods with Daryl, and he doesn't know how he knows, but Carol is waiting with cars and Shane and Lori and Glenn are looking as well with faces he knows but at the same time doesn't. He also feels a heavy set loss. Failure.

“You okay?” He looks up to see Michonne walking over to him, a worried looks on her face.

He nods and stands. He looks around while saying, “Yeah. Just feelin' a little boxed in, you know?”

She smiles at that, nodding. “I know what might help. C'mon.” He throws the shovel down and follows her up the rock path.

Michonne is quiet in a way similar to Daryl. She doesn't say much and when she does it's important. She commands attention and respect with every word. Her look is sharp and piercing, but when he sees her and Carl together she's soft and gentle.

She's a storm, strong and true, ready to rage and take any man that gets in her way. But she's also the calm; the sun that shines and warms the skin.

Both the girl with the red cape, and the wolf lurking in the trees. That fact makes him feel safe and wary at the same time. He's thankful she's on his side.

So far the forest is quiet, making no sounds of its own. Dead leaves crunch under their feet and outstretched branches scratch their clothing; the sun his playing hide and seek between green leaves and broken branches. It's easy to see that Michonne is in her territory, using the woods to her advantage, the elements advancing her skills making her the perfect predator.

Rick finds himself fascinated with how she makes her way across logs, over stepping twigs and prominent tree roots. She's graceful, moving as if this was a dance.

“I think it might help to get you out here again.”

He doesn't tell her that he'd rather be anywhere else then where they are right now, instead he nods. “I thought I was stuck growing peas forever.”

She laughs at that. “You can go back to your plants later. Right now, I think you need to remind yourself that you can beat them.”

As if on cue, there is a snap off to their right. Michonne watches in that direction, her eyes scanning back and forth, waiting. Rick isn't sure where to look so he settles between looking back between her and the trees.

When three of those things appear Rick's heart immediately leaps up into his throat. He understands enough to know that he can't panic, not here, not now. But that doesn't stop his head from becoming dizzy and the feel of long gone pain echoing throughout his head.

Michonne comes up beside him, her gaze on the things – walkers his mind reminds him. She has a small smile on her face and a look of intent in her eyes. She's ready to kill.

She steps forward when the walkers get close enough, pulling her katana out of its sheath and arming it in front of her. Before she moves she looks over at him. “You can do this.”

She turns from him and in one swift move she beheads a walker. He tries not to openly stare as its head rolls away, black blood spilling from the head and body. The head stops rolling and lightly nudges his shoe, he watches as Michonne flicks the blood of her katana and walks past the next walker to take out the third.

That meant this second one was his.

It's staggering towards him, its mouth open, teeth rotted and skin falling off its face as it snarls. With Michonne's back to him he allows his eyes to widen and he takes a couple step back. He grabs the knife in his belt and he raises his hands in front of him, he knows he has to aim for the head, it was just getting himself to that point. His palms are sweaty and he swallows around his nerves. He doesn't think he can do this, that this is the moment everyone learns that Rick wasn't fully okay in the head. That Michonne is going to have to take his dead body back to the prison, back to his son and daughter -

And then, with a conviction and strength he didn't know he possessed, he grabs the walker by the throat, pulls it close, and embeds his blade into the centre of its forehead.

\--

Laying in bed he thinks about the walker, its decaying face snarling in his minds eye, and the the way it dropped when he stabbed it in between the eyes, like a toy does when its batteries are taken out.

He shudders when he thinks about how natural it felt to do that, that when he looked around to see three walkers dead and blood splatter on his jacket, he felt normal.

These thoughts follow him into an uneasy sleep.

\--

Rick gasps awake in the dead of night, and as clear as day he sees a man with black greasy hair slowly sink to the floor, a look of shock on his face as blood drips down the front of his face, a machete embedded in his head. And without a single doubt, Rick knows he is the one who killed him.

\--

He sits at the breakfast table feeling more out of it then he has in a long time. All night he went from sinking into blackness only to wake up to grotesque images. He hides his shaking hands underneath the table and paints on his best I'm-not-freaking-internally face, and somehow makes it through breakfast without being questioned.

\--

He finds Hershel walking along the perimeter of the prison alone. The man looks calm as he watches the walkers throw themselves against the fence. Their decaying faces and throaty snarls doing nothing to phase him.

“Am I a bad person?” he asks as he approaches Hershel.

Hershel turns and regards him for a moment. “Now why would you think a thing like that?”

“I think I'm remembering thangs -”

“Well that's good.”

“Yeah it's great, all I'm rememberin' is me killin' people.” He points to the pile of walkers. “Not those things, but real people. I killed livin' people.”

“Because it was necessary.”

“Necessary? Shouldn't we be savin' people? I shot two men for no reason.”

“They would have killed us if you hadn't.” Rick opens his mouth to argue, but Hershel raises a hand, stopping him. “Rick, you're a good man. You've made some tough decisions but at the end of the day you did what you had t', t' keep these people safe. T' keep Carl safe. Whatever you remember, no matter how terrible it may seem now, know that there is no trace of malice in your heart.”

\--

His heart feels numb in his chest. It's beating hollow behind his ribs and he can barely feel the echo of it throughout his body. He's sitting in the corner of his cell, the look of Shane's bloodied face stalking towards him on loop in his mind.

He jumps when he hears a gunshot ring out next to his ear and he can't hold back the scream that rips through his throat.

\--

The air is smokey. Puffs of grey and black standing out against the night sky with little explosions of red and orange popping in between. Usually, camp fires are a calm affair. Full of life and sometimes song, but mostly stories and memories. To some, these nights would be seen as weak moments, the group letting their guard down to let each other hear their past and experiences. Sometimes their old hopes and dreams. Their new fears. Though to these people, it's seen as pure trust and goodness. It's therapeutic and humbling.

Though tonight it's not a weakness or a pleasure. Tonight the smoke filled air isn't comforting but suffocating, the red and orange sparks burning against their skins and the crackling now sounding taunting.

They sit close together and feign the chilled atmosphere. The small talk is forced but not unwelcome, the group desperately clinging to something normal.

“Daddy.” Maggie says looking pointedly at her intertwined fingers. To Hershel, she looks a lot like she did when she was young, asking for something she may not get with an expression of pure innocence that he can't say no too. She immediately gains the attention of everyone, curious about her tone of voice. She sounds like a child who's about to walk a fine line and isn't sure if her curiosity will get her in trouble. With a loud in take of breath Maggie looks up to meet her fathers eyes. “We have our suspicions, but...I was wonderin' if you'd finally tell us what's wrong with Rick.”

The silence that follows is deafening. No one looks around, their gazes all locked on Hershel with unashamed intensity and curiosity. Like he holds all the answers to the questions of life.

“He made me promise not to tell any of you.” Hershel begins looking around the group until he stops at Carl. “Especially you.”

Carl frowns, a look of confusion on his face. It's cautious, as if he now no longer wants to know the answer, and Hershel can't blame him.

“The last thing Rick remembers is being shot while on duty two years ago.”

Silence rings in their ears, the group stunned into silence. Carl goes to stand up, but Michonne grabs his arm. He looks down and her and she looks up at him. She raises and eyebrow and says, “Sit down.” He tries to pull away but she doesn't let go. “You need to hear what Hershel has to say. This isn't your Dad's fault.”

After a moment between the two, Carl settles down beside her, leaning against her side. She puts an arm around him and strokes his hair as he begins to shake, soothing him as best as she can without making him feel like a spectacle in front of everyone.

Hershel watches Carl with sad eyes before addressing the rest of the group. No one is has torn up as Carl is, but everyone seems to be going through their own version of shock. Some openly staring at him with wide, disbelieving eyes, and some can't seem to look anywhere but the grass. “Now Rick didn't want any of you to know for various reasons. One being he didn't want to let anyone down, especially when he realized the severity of our situation. He didn't want to become a burden.”

“He's not a burden!” Carl said through his tears.

“I never said he was, but he said he would feel like one if everyone were to look at him differently because of his condition.”

“He didn't need to hide this from us. We would have helped him, he didn't have to do this alone.” Maggie says. She's now holding Glenn's hand, a look of not quite understanding on her face.

“Still going through.” Hershel corrects as kindly as he can. “He remembers a few things here or there, and he's adapting as quickly as he can, but he's still very much in the dark about certain things.”

“What can we do?” Glenn asks.

\--

Once Hershel said all he had to say the group decided to retire to their cells, save for Carol and Daryl. When she noticed he made no move to get up when everyone else did she decided to hang back knowing he shouldn't be left alone with the news they just received. With one last look at Carl - knowing he was in good hands with Michonne - Carol turns back and takes a seat next to Daryl in the grass. They sit in silence for a long while, the fire on it's last log and its embers flying into the air with low life.

“I kissed him.” Daryl mutters. His voice practically nonexistent, and if Carol hadn't been waiting for

him to say something, she might not have heard him. She reaches over and places a hand on his knee as comfort, but Daryl rejects her attempt and stands up. He begins pacing back and forth in front of the fire.

“Son of a bitch let me kiss him when he doesn't remember me-”

“Daryl.”

“-scared out of his mind an' there I go-”

“Daryl!”

“-and we were alone! 'm nothing but a stranger an' I did that t' him-”

“You didn't know. None of us did.”

“He could of told me!”

“You heard what Hershel said, Rick didn't want anyone to know, but now we do and we can help him. And he didn't reject you when you kissed him, so part of him must remember you.”

Daryl visibly deflates at that and Carol stands up, cautiously making her way towards him. When she's close enough to touch she reaches out and places her hands on his shoulders, “Hey.” she says softly, and she repeats it until he looks her in the eyes. “It's gonna be okay.”

He lets out a noise that resembles a whine and drops his head into the curve of her neck. They stand there for a while, holding each other as the fire slowly dies behind them.

\--

“It's not his fault you know.” Michonne says as she and Carl make their way back to the prison. He's leaning against her side and she's practically carrying him back. The exhaustion of their night causing him to drag his feet as he walks, making him very close to being dead weight. “I get why you're mad, but it's unnecessary.”

“He lied.”

“We all do.”

“But this is important.”

She's quiet for a moment before,“I know. But what's important now is that we help him.”

\--

“Why didn't you tell me?”

Rick looks up, confused by the question. He sees Carl standing in the opening of the cell, his eyes are red and puffy and Rick sees that he's been crying. He stands up and reaches out, his arms open. Carl looks at them with a pout. It's clear he wants to run into the embrace, but he's holding himself back.

“What's wrong?” Rick asks, concerned, and when Carl looks away with his bottom lip trembling, Rick feels his heart break.

“You don't remember anything.” Carl looks back at him now, his eyes shining and bright with tears. He blinks and they fall down his cheeks and Rick wants to do nothing but clear them away, but he knows he can't, that he has to wait for Carl to come to him. He feels this throat close up with emotion at Carl's words. He wasn't sure how long he though he could fool everyone here but it was obvious his time was now up. If Carl knew, then everyone did. He's positive Hershel told them, and he's not surprised at that. He's not even angry. Part of his is relieved in a way. Now he can walk around and not have to pretend he knows who Glenn is talking about when he brings up another wise old man with a white beard and a shitty RV. That he doesn't have to assure people things will be all right because "they've been through tough situations like this before."

He always thinks about how lucky he was to have been a cop. That he was practically trained how to lie and look truthful, and be confident and put together despite being scared shit-less.

In this moment though, he's anything but. He can feel tears welling up and his throat is becoming sore as he tries to keep his tears at bay. He shakes his head, a frown on his face. “No, I don't remember much.”

“Why didn't you tell me?” Carl repeats, but this time it's not as demanding. He sounds like a little kid again.

“To protect you.”

“I don't need protecting.”

Rick can't help but laugh. “I know.”

He isn't sure why that's Carl's undoing, but it is, and next thing he knows he's falling to the floor with his arms wrapped tightly around Carl as they both cry.

\--

He feels like he's the centre attention, yet no one is looking at him. Well, not directly or openly, but every once in a while he'll catch someone's eye, and the second they lock eyes, they look away. It's frustrating and all he wants is for someone to openly call him out, though he knows that isn't going to happen, not with everyone here. If he's going to be cornered about it, it's going to be when he's alone.

The room is undoubtedly tense, a tension so thick Rick is positive he could cut it with a knife, but everyone carries on like usual, conversation and laughter filling the room.

The thing is, is that he may not remember the past two years, but he's learned a lot in the past two months. He can kills walkers without a second thought and he knows all the roads and routes in their surrounding area. He could navigate the woods behind them with his eyes closed, and he's relearned how to set traps for animals and how to coordinate runs just by standing back and watching everyone else.

He understands why everyone would either be upset or wary with him, because he doesn't remember a lot of what got them to the point they're at, but he does know how to continue on and get them someplace better. He may not have the memories they do anymore, but be can protect them and help them, and that seems to be the important thing.

\--

Carol is watching Rick as he works. Everything about him the past couple months now makes sense, and she can't help but wonder how they all missed it. The way he seemed confused by things now considered normal. How he all but retreated back into his garden, acting almost like a hermit within its plants and dirt. Everyone knew something was wrong when Rick pretty much cut off contact with them all. He talked with them of course, but that was only if they approached him, and even then he was distant and different. As if everything about them and their setting was foreign to him, and now they know it was – and still is in a way. Hershel had told them that Rick is slowly but surely remembering things; people they've killed, bits of the farm, snippets of each and everyone of them. They were told not to worry and just go about their days as if everything was fine, that Rick will eventually come around and take up his leader role soon, even if his memories stay blocked.

“Do you think he'll be okay?” Beth appears next to her. She doesn't look overly concerned but her brow is furrowed, eyes locked on Rick as he looks around.

Carol looks over at her, a small smile on her face. She puts an arm over Beth's shoulder and pulls her close, pressing a kiss to her head.

“Of course. This is Rick Grimes we're talking about.” Carol doesn't like how she sounds. She sounds like she's already accepted Rick's defeat. In a way she has - has accepted that Rick may as well of died out there in the woods. That even though he's still with them, he's really not.

“Will he be able t' protect us?”

Carol can't help but smile, remembering the lengths Rick went to keep everyone safe and well.

“I think this time, it's up to us to protect Rick.”

\--

“Hey man,” Glenn says, placing a hand on Rick's shoulder. He leans forward and down in an attempt to get Rick to look at him. “You all right?”

Rick nods, a hand coming up to swipe at his nose.

“You sure?”

Rick looks at him and then back at the ground, the action quick. “I'm fine.” His voice is firm and clipped. Glenn raises an eyebrow, a bit taken aback by Rick's tone. “Okay, man. I believe you.” He watches Rick for another moment before turning away.

Rick looks up when he notices Glenn leaving. “'m sorry.” he calls, and when Glenn turns around he says, “'m just not -” he gestures at himself. Glenn nods and walks back over.

“I get it. It's gonna be okay, you know that, right? You don't have t' do this alone anymore.”

“I just didn't want to cause problems.”

“Rick,” Glenn begins, and there is something in his voice that makes Rick look at him. “we're your family now, and we will help you no matter what. You've done this before and you can do it again. Just don't close us off, we're here to help.”

\--

He's returning to his cell after putting Judith to sleep with Carl. With exception to a few hours he worked in the garden alone, the two of them stayed with him the entire day. Judith was completely oblivious to what was going on around her - namely the snarling and the fence shaking, but she was quite the adorable sight as she pulled out grass and squished dirt in his hands, loudly exclaiming her joy as Carl and Rick worked. He became sad when he realized he could never properly document her or Carl's growth anymore. That his memories were all he would have and right now he was missing some of their major growth points – Judith's birth being one of the things that kept him awake at night. Carl talked to him about a lot of things last night, and Rick noticed he kept Lori out of a lot of his stories. Rick knew it wasn't out of disrespect or anything, but because it was still too painful for him to talk about and when he cried so hard and long into Rick's chest over how he had to kill her the night before, Rick felt helpless.

He sighs and rubs his face before pulling back the cells curtain. He feels like he could sleep forever, but he knows he'll most likely have another sleepless night. He startles when he sees Daryl standing in the middle of the cell, his back to Rick, looking out the tiny window.

“Hey.” Rick says, dragging the word out. He cringes inwardly at how his tone suggests he doesn't want to be there, but in all honesty, he isn't sure he does.

Daryl turns around and levels him with a look that makes Rick's heart hurt. It has nothing on how Carl made him feel, all helpless and like a failure, but this is close enough at that he feels chills crawl down his spin.

“You lied.”

The remark is so blunt and forward that Rick is taken back. He knows what Daryl is here for. He's here for answers just like everyone else was. No one really called him out, save for Michonne and Sasha, both telling him in their own ways that he was stupid and that if he ever tried and pulled shit like that again they would kill him themselves. He didn't doubt that. But this, he knew, was going to be different. Not like his calm talk with Glenn or his one with Carl. Rick knew he just walked into a lovers spat.

“About?” he asks, cautious, but that doesn't matter because Daryl looks like he's two seconds away from punching him in the face.

“Don't play games with me, Grimes.”

Rick stares at him for a moment before giving up trying to tiptoe before he even really started. “Technically, I didn't lie.”

Daryl scoffs. “I can't lie about somethin' no one knew about.”

Before he can blink, Daryl is in his face, their noses a hairbreadth away from touching. “You lied t' me, t' all of us. You said you were fine and you're not. Tryin' t' be the hero and you could have gotten yourself killed because of it.”

“I didn't want to cause a problem -”

“Well you did anyway.”

Rick doesn't like how Daryl doesn't even have to raise his voice for his words to ring in his ears. He could take yelling and the heat that comes with it, the headaches it causes. But Daryl's words are sharp and clipped and said so quietly, stabbing Rick in the heart in ways he never knew possible. When he doesn't say anything Daryl walks past him to leave, and that's when he reacts.“Daryl, wait.” he says, grabbing his arm only to have Daryl rip it out of his grip.

“Do you even know who I am?”

“Daryl, please -”

“Do you?”

Rick looks at him, and he feels defeated. He wants to tell him yes, that he knows and remembers everything that went on between them, romantic and intimate or not. But he knows that he shouldn't, that doing so would only makes things worse then they already are. “Bits and pieces.”

Daryl scoffs, shaking his head and turns to leave. “Leave me alone.”

“You know I can't do that.”

Daryl turns back to him. “Why not? Didn't seem t' have a problem doin' that before.”

“'Cause I do know how much you mean to me.”

Then they're close again, but unlike before neither of them are saying a word, just staring into each other eyes, both looking for something. Daryl's eyes are nothing but fire and intensity, but there is also a softness there – one that screams out to Rick.

He isn't sure who leans in first or second, or how they're so close he can't keep his eyes straight anymore, but that doesn't matter because next thing he knows they're kissing and his hands are cupping Daryl's face and their bodies are pressed together, and their kiss is sloppy and careless and perfect in every way to Rick.

When they break from the kiss, Daryl leans forward and rests his forehead against Rick's. His eyes are closed and his expression is a bit pained, and Rick can't stop his heart from beating as fast as it is, wanting every memory of this man to resurface in this moment.

“Please don't go.” is all he can say.

\--

He never knows for sure if he gets all of his memories back. Every once in a while something will click and settle in a vacant spot in his mind he didn't know was vacant. Sometimes, he wakes up in a cold sweat from nightmares of him killing people or watching someone screaming as they're being torn apart by blunt teeth and blood stained fingers. He doesn't know how to explain how he knows those are memories, and he's glad when Daryl doesn't pry or ask, just settles him down and silently comforts him until he falls back asleep.

Sometimes he's rendered momentarily blind as a memory shoves itself into place, snippets of conversation with people long dead play through his mind like a broken music box. Those moments hurt, but when Glenn is telling a story about another who once shared their live with them, he's able to pull them from the depths of his mind up and smile at their memory.

It took a little while longer for him to accept his role within the group. He knew he had what it took to lead them like he once did, but the way they trusted him as if it was second nature was a bit unnerving and he fears doing wrong by them, but he now understands that sometimes he has to do things his old self would hate him for. That he's no longer a deputy, but a survivor, a warrior and that meant spilling blood, taking risks and doing things he never thought he would have to do.

An arrow soars past him, missing his cheek by mere inches. The head lands in between the eyes of a walker, the colourful flag at the end swishing back and forth from the impact. He turns and grins at Daryl as the man walks past him to collect his arrow, lightly touching his arm as he goes.

Michonne is off to his left, scanning the area with an intense focus. When she sees a walker stumbling alone she steps forward and cuts its head clean off before flicking the blood off her blade.

They step as quietly as they can, their movements slow and steady. They don't know these woods, and Rick doesn't want to risk anything, not when the group is feeling as defeated as they are.

Daryl reappears through the trees and when Rick raises an eyebrow he shakes his head, “Pile of walkers headin' this way.”

“How many?” Sasha asks, coming up to stand next to Rick, Maggie next to her.

“'bout a doze. Maybe a bit more.”

“We can take 'em.” She turns her head to look at Rick. “We need this.” she says with conviction.  

Rick isn't sure he agrees. The heartbreak of losing the prison as well as the disappointment of Terminus is sending a lot of the group into emotional overdrive, and being back in the woods, constantly having to watch their backs, isn't helping either.

He doesn't want anyone to do anything stupid out of anger and sadness. He knows they have all this built up adrenaline, and what better way to let loose their rage then taking it out on a bunch of walkers. He knows they won't be fully satisfied, but it's better then having everyone turning on and taking it out on each other. He knows they wouldn't mean it if they did, but it's better to let out steam now then allow them to boil over later when they're needed with a clear head.

He and Sasha stare at each other for a moment. She nods and he nods back.

Without having to look he knows the group is falling into formation, making sure there are eyes in every direction, everyone's back covered. Sasha and Daryl are on either side of him, a knife and a crossbow raised and ready to fight. He spares a second to worry about Judith and Carl, but he knows they'll be protected. 

When a hoard of walkers come staggering out from behind the cover of trees Rick can't help but smile as someone says with too much glee, “Mother dick.”

The once quiet forest is now loud with throaty growls and snarls, the sounds of dead leaves crunching and twigs being snapped filling the air. The group stays still, anticipation buzzing through their veins as they wait for the fight to come a little bit closer. Before reaching forward to grab the neck of the closest walker, Rick quickly looks around him, taking in the intensity of the group, their focus.

He may not remember everything, but he remembers enough – and these people and their safety is all that matters.

\--

 

**Author's Note:**

> So who's ready for the finale? I know I'm not, ho-ly shit. 
> 
> http://waynesgrayson.tumblr.com/
> 
> No beta, all mistakes are my own.


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